


The 52nd Hour: First Shift

by ParadoxR



Series: The 52nd Hour [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Canon, Episode: s01e01 Children of the Gods (1), F/M, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 01, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadoxR/pseuds/ParadoxR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a tactically indigent, brownnosing Academy scientist is about the worst thing anyone could be in their combined presence. And it’s also the first thing they need: she’s their only way home.</p><p>52nd Hour is a five-part saga and sequel to “Chulak-ian Rain”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Twenty Minutes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steadfast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steadfast/gifts), [bethanyactually](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethanyactually/gifts), [cyced](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyced/gifts), [amaradangeli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sub-series finishes the canon divergence started in “Chulakian Rain”. You’ll miss some without reading the prequel, but the gist is that Jack, Charlie, Lou, Daniel, Sam and Teal’c get stranded on a planet with a broken DHD after escaping from Chulak. Teal’c doesn’t speak English (Jack’s calling him “Goldie” from his tattoo). Some cursing. Minimal jargon. The first chapter's a slower expository session than the rest.

“We good, Charlie?” Jack doesn’t look up from Daniel’s bloodied arm. Kawalsky’s perimeter check is just another practiced precision Jack’s slowly forgotten to miss in his years planning ops instead of executing them.

“For now,” the major starts, beelining for Lou’s busted knee. “Five o’clock off the Gate looks promising.” His head cocks to reinforce his still-quiet voice. They start marking directions from the front of the Gate. “Maybe a half-klick.”

Daniel winces as Jack disinfects another shrapnel wound. They’re not bad, but Jack’s muscle memory is a little twitchy.

“Sorry.” The colonel offers mutedly. Field medic’s another skill he’s rusty on despite the run-up to the Abydos mission, but Daniel’s had the diplomatic grace not to complain.

Charlie positions Captain Carter’s hand to hold a cravat above Lou’s knee.

“Dense but navigable, even for Lou.” Charlie continues. It’s a jibe plus an honest note on his friend’s knee, and the major smirks back good-naturedly. At least one of each mans’ eyes stay rested on the Gate.

Daniel winces again as Jack carefully handles another piece of shrapnel in his arm. Nothing deep, though he’s lucky the lower stuff missed his palmar arteries. Jack snags a needle from Captain Carter’s med kit and rearranges Daniel to start stitching the two short wounds that need it. Goldie crouches forward a few steps in the dense forest, allowing the red-orange sunlight to reilluminate the doctor’s arm.

 

The colonel’s brain clues him in on the report his 2IC’s finishing. It’s a helpful mental skill, despite being honed far more from juggling Performance Reports and Letters of Counseling than anything from the field. ‘That’s downstream. Some good paths to the river from a hundred-pound deer thing, and probably strong sightlines into the valley. Sky looks calm.’ It’s not quite a direct quote from his 2IC, but it’s close enough.

“Can we see the Gate from there?” Jack asks around the thread in his mouth.

“Doesn’t look like it.” Charlie glances backwards, framed against the low-hanging sun. The red orb isn’t setting or rising with any sense of urgency.

 _Feels like St. Petersburg._ Too much like it. Jack blinks.

They must be near a pole despite the temperature—not actually hot under the canopy, but dry enough that he can feel the mud start to flake off his t-shirt. Good thing, both for their bodies and their clothes. His men are good, but they don’t need to spend a post-combat night with Captain Carter still winning a wet t-shirt contest. The captain’s dry hands are wherever Charlie moves them on Lou’s field split, but her mind is somewhere else entirely—presumably at the busted dialing pedestal. She’s not a medic. Or a multitasker. Too single-minded.

“We stay here another twenty.” Charlie and Lou nod as one and Captain Carter and Daniel at least don’t question him. The captain trails Jack’s 2IC to his flanking position, staff weapons primed.

 

Jack shifts his weight off his knees and scans the forest and the Gate. He wonders when they’ll lose the light. _Right when you need it, of course._ Especially if the gray-suits know this planet. Goldie doesn’t seem to, but for all Jack knows they could be in Slovak Carpathians. He prefers here, if it doesn’t have the bears.

He tries predict exactly how long seven chevrons of warning is. _You should’ve measured it._ He should of. Either way it’s better than nothing—better than getting hunted by gray-suits across an alien continent—but it’s not long. And the ‘suits are probably well-versed at through-Stargate attacks. Jack tries to decipher how, but doesn’t like the only two answers he gets. One bomb through the Gate or way too many spaceships. _Do they make those to fit through?_ He doesn’t dare imagine why they wouldn’t.

 

Daniel’s still with Jack, and the linguist’s now searching for a more workable dialect for Goldie. Jack barely studies the larger man before pushing on Daniel’s shoulder. _Not now, Daniel._ The forest isn’t too quiet, but Jack’s still not in the mood to announce their presence to whatever lives in warm polar forests on far-flung planets. Besides, he’s got the sneaking suspicion that Goldie understands the good doctor just fine. It’s just that the gold tattoo is silently facing the Gate with that patient determination—the same resolve Jack hopes his own features still remember how to display.

 _Don’t spin._ Jack grits his teeth carefully and doesn’t glance at the watch he commandeered from Captain Carter’s buried stash. They need the Gate flanked for now. If the gray-suits don’t just blow them all to kingdom come. _Here’s to hoping that’s not their MO._ Or that they really want prisoners. His thoughts flicker to Carter’s missing night and back. Maybe Goldie knows they’re not coming. Or he’s trying to get them caught. Maybe… Jack’s face stays impassive with experience. It’s his heart that goes to his people.

_Does the pedestal record dialed addresses?_ The thought’s only minutes into their stay here, but it’s too late for a brain that should be so experienced at identifying malicious pursuit. Jack hasn’t bothered with unknown machines since undergrad. It’s a Captain Carter question, and one he doubts she can answer. _Again._ Not that it’s her fault, but he’s not sure the young captain grasps the difference between fault and necessity a thousand light years from home. Or wherever the hell they are.

Still, he wonders if it’d be safe to leave this planet now even if they could. They’d gotten lucky with this one—almost unbearably lucky, if the Abydos cartouche isn’t sorted—and their only other options are from a recent defector who may or may not have friends like himself. And Jack’s not quite sure Goldie has friends at all.

_Thirteen minutes left._

 

The colonel scans his team again, his agitation easily in check. A little distance from the Gate will be a good cushion when they make camp, but for now he’ll keep them all on alert. Charlie’s at full strength, and Lou is mobile if unhappy about it. Daniel is too, though he had the benefit of sleeping last night. _And missing all the fun of Goldie staring them down for six hours._

Goldie looks…immobile. _Which is odd for someone so damn mobile_ , Jack thinks, recalling the man’s close-quarters-combat in the hallway of their former prison. He studies the warrior’s supposedly-healing shoulder. It actually does look better.

But Goldie’s definitely the better off of the people Jack doesn’t consider ‘his’. Captain Carter looks like she’d fall asleep on Charlie’s shoulder if her gaze riveted on the dialing pedestal wasn’t so strong. _Fifty-one hours and forty-two minutes, Captain._

Jack taps Goldie’s back nine minutes later. He large man doesn’t turn as they both rise from their posts in silent agreement. _I could get used to that._ Jack tugs Lou to his feet with only a muted objection. Charlie and Carter hop a half a dozen downed trees and wind up beside them in under about minute. It’s a nice forest. _Almost beautiful._ If it weren’t so foreign.

“Did you see that deer thing over there?”

Jack nods to Lou, letting a smirk creep onto his weathered face to greet the younger man’s hungry look. “Catch one if you can, but keep the small game traps out.” Squirrels keep you as alive as deer and are a lot less dangerous when they kick. Though he expects anything Charlie and Lou cook up will have a healthy-sized plasma blast in its side. “We’ll probably be stretching MREs.” The CO turns to the single pack at his feet, kicking some of the now-dry Chulakian mud off its straps. “Wha’d we got for that, Captain?”

Eyebrows raise on the captain in question, and the stammering begins almost immediately. Jack doesn’t need the actual words to understand her embarrassment. “MREs, Sir?”

“Yes, Captain, the things we eat once in seventy hours so that we don’t keel over.” His reply is harder than is strictly necessary, but she’s still almost falling asleep on him. _What the hell happened to you last night, Captain?_ He’d need to find out soon—earlier than now, but their noise protocols haven’t exactly been conducive to it. She’d be fine.

_She’s not special ops, Jack._

“Uh…I…We had to be home in six hours…I figured weapons…” She breaths. “I’m sorry, Sir.” Her slow tone is a painful reaffirmation of his thought. _She doesn’t know what she’s doing out here, and you’re not helping._

“We don’t have food?” Lou’s typically genial mid-mission features twist downward ever-so-slightly. Jack’s barely seen him since ’91, but even then the young man had shown damn little patience for cluelessness in US uniforms. Jack hadn’t imagined that six years of training indigenous forces improved the situation.

Charlie shifts. Jack feels more than sees that frown pile on. Being a tactically indigent, brownnosing Academy scientist is about the worst thing anyone could be in their combined presence. _And also the first thing you need._ The captain’s blush deepens under Jack’s careful gaze. She’s a smart kid a million lifetimes from home, and she’s their only way back. _So how do I get you to pull that off, Captain?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be flitting some more backstory canon as we go. It won't be anything too weird. There has to be some reason a full-bird colonel that should be retired is leading a four-man team while simultaneously serving as a deputy *squadron* commander underneath a *two-star*. Right?


	2. Façades

Charlie knows the harsh look that morphs onto his CO’s face without actually looking away from the Gate. Well, technically the look is mostly in the tendons of Jack’s neck. His friend’s eyes are still as empty as they’d been since his personal sidearm went off that beautiful September morning.

“Captain, when we get a minute, we need to talk about survival priorities.” Charlie’s own voice is too gruff for his comfort, but the repressed grimace on his CO’s face tells him to use it anyway. Jack’s gut has made its decision on her, apparently. It’s a quick one for how much it matters, and Charlie’s not sure he likes it.

“And planting equipment stashes.” Lou breathes, barely audible over the sounds of alien crickets.

“And contingency preparation.” Charlie cuts him off in turn, though all four eyes are still scanning their surroundings.

“—and how much C4 you actually need for a distraction.” Lou’s ears are still ringing.

“—and proper covert planning”

“—and casualty assessment”

“—dense forest operations—”

“—combat comm—”

 

It’s a long list, if befitting of the mission length. Jack orders them on silently, waiting for Daniel. The look on his captain’s face reaffirms his gut’s assessment of her. She deserves this. Needs it, even. His eyes keep scanning the still-lit forest carefully. They’re staying quiet and this needs to happen somewhere soon, but he’s still overly cautious about noise. Jack doesn’t like noise.

 

“Guys, come on! She just saved our tails like three times.” The doctor protests as heralded.

“Four.” Charlie’s being a little liberal with the counting, but Daniel’s not about to complain.

“Then would you save the nitpicking?!” The linguist quiets his voice to follow Charlie’s, but it’s no less perturbed.

“It’s not nitpicking if the nit can kill you, Doctor.”

Silence reigns for a beat. Charlie’s reply is flat, and his eyes are still far more interested in the Gate and the forest than the doctor.

Daniel rubs his arm subconsciously. He’s a little happy on a syringe of something, but the now-dressed shrapnel wounds aren’t quite ready to handle his own nits.

“It’s not a problem, Doctor Jackson. They’re right.”

Jack watches peripherally as Charlie’s gaze jumps to examine Captain Carter’s statement, searching for the either impressively high or dangerously low self-confidence. Jack’d realized early on that he won’t see it under the chip on her shoulder. His eyes keep scanning.

It’s not that hers was a bad attempt. She’s got an innovative if not uncommon knack for risk-taking—too much of it for her inexperience—but it’s the details that kill most missions, most people.

Jack nods to Charlie who’s back to listing missteps with Lou. _Hit her with it, hard,_ he reminds them silently. This mission isn’t one he can grade of effort, and he’s not about to let her think it is. It’s usually different, but she’s proven tough enough: an airman that can take a hit and thrive under pressure. _And who needs to learn how clueless she is._ He’s calm about the one-shot judgment, silver eagles scratching at his collar.

 

Fifty-one hours and thirty-three minutes.

Captain Carter turns several shades paler than her normal attractive hue under Charlie and Lou’s consideration. She’s shaking a little, invisibly. Jack’s finally grimaces. He’s not quite ready to concede that it’s directed several thousand light years over her shoulder. Or whatever direction that little blue dot with its big black Beltway is.

 

“—and picking goddamn fall back planets.”

That’s a bridge too far and Lou feels Jack’s and his own internal disapproval almost immediately. Charlie’s invisible grimace darkens, and he suddenly regrets not questioning whether his CO’s gut is now too darkened by that beautiful September morning.

“Time for you to move out, campers.” Said CO cuts in sharply but unapologetically. “Half a klick or so.”

Charlie just nods as their eyes meet. He watches as Jack ignores his meaningful gaze, and Charlie knows it’s moot for now how much his son’s death might’ve affected the former squadron commander’s judgment. His CO’s stability is as important as the captain’s if they’re going to get home. _You need to evaluate him._

Jack continues evenly, and Charlie’s decides his colonel honestly hasn’t noticed the issue. “Take Daniel, Lou and…” Jack nods to Goldie, avoiding Daniel’s guaranteed rebuke at the name. “Make camp and relieve us at the Gate in two hours.”

“Sir, I’m fully capable of making a campsite.”

Jack grimace isn’t entirely artificial as he turns to the captain and her overcompensating tone. He knows he is not and isn’t trying to be the most pleasant man, even on this planet. Still, he can’t help but wonder who the hell her COs have been that she literally won’t follow him as far as she can throw him. Distrust isn’t what he needs right now.

“I don’t care.” Jack barely pauses, but she opens her mouth to the bait anyway. “Captain, you will do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it.” _Or you’ll blame yourself when we all die here_ , but Jack lets his tone shield the twenty-eight-year-old from that particular truth. “And I’m telling you to get us the” hell off this… “back to Earth.” He lets the mistaken ‘the’ sit there. Those who know him know it’s reminder that it’s Earth in fifty-one hours and twenty-nine minutes, or bust.


	3. Two Hours

“Sir, this isn’t like solving a jigsaw puzzle. No one made an answer here.” Her voice is on the ragged edge as she speaks up, still frowning the ‘DHD’. Jack can hear the tears caught in her exhausted eyes—she’d be well over that edge if she weren’t so desperate to prove herself. _Thrive under pressure, Captain._ “There isn’t one. You’re asking me to sail the Titanic back into port. It just can’t...”

“Captain, nothing _can’t_ happen.” He’d said thrive, damnit.

“With all due respect, Sir, you don’t _understand_.” She bookends the sentence with a deep breath, almost reining in her emotions from their repeat if momentary slip.

“I understand perfectly.”

Suddenly her sigh reminds Jack far too much of an unbeloved multivariate calculus professor at U of M. “This is the truth, Sir. These crystal objects aren’t like—”

“Captain,” The colonel doesn’t pause before leveling with her. “I don’t _care_ whether it’s true or not. All I care about is whether you _think_ it’s true.”

 “...I do.” She squints at him tiredly, probably more from her doctorate than her second sleepless evening.

“Then lie to yourself.”

Both eyebrows furrow at his bluntness. “Wh...? Why would I do that?”

Jack decides he doesn’t even want to sigh. “Because we have exactly one hour at this two days from now, and if you don’t lie to yourself there’s _no way_ we’ll get home.” He pauses. “Tell me about it when we get there.”

Captain Carter blinks at him for a second, features morphing into the ‘whoa, there’s someone home in that head’ look he’s grown sporadically used to over the years. It’s not as incredulous a look as he expects. Jack’s not sure whether to be impressed by her initial judgment of him or worried about hero-worship.

 

She pulls back out of her head thoughtfully. Her eyes are sharper now, more soldier and less scientist. It must be a difficult balance. “We’ll make it, Sir. I’ve got this.” Still, her poise is a bit of a surprise for him.

 

Jack’s never had much love for surprises.  
  


 

He thinks she’s managed to embrace his lie. Sleepless or not, it’s only taken her an hour crouched in front of the ‘DHD’ ( _Seriously? It’s kinda cute. Shut up._ ) to dissect it into a sort of focused chaos that tells him a lot about what her labs must look like. She’s scratching more electrical circuits in the dirt beside the dissection—something about a variable capacitor and a bunch of diodes, though he has no idea how she’s deduced that. The forest’s almost as bright as it was when they arrived, though now it’s the twin moons’ light glinting off the few unburnt crystal surfaces. _Damn forest fires and falling beech trees._ The latter look like rock candy. And the former are lighting up her face almost as much as the look in her eyes is.

Jack’s exhausted mouth twitches upward again.

 _Didn’t you knock that off already, Colonel?_ Of course, it hasn’t so much his rank accidentally smiling at her back over the last half hour.

She blows out another breath and runs a hand through her now-dry hair, brilliant white under the moonslight.

“Sir...” she’s aiming for something profound and just as incompressible as usual, but the yawn that stops her is more telling. He snatches up an eight-inch blue crystal just before she falls on it. “Sorry.”

“Take a breath, Captain. This is good work.” He puts on his ‘advanced training commander mode’, which makes for more useful compliments even if it didn’t make moot the fact that he has no clue what she’s doing. He glances upwards past the far-off, unrecognizable stars. _I hope she’s a lone wolf kind of engineer._ And a team player kind of soldier. It’s a tall order and will take a while to build.

_When did you decide to keep her?_

“Take a break, Captain.”

Her mouth opens again, unbaited. It’s a new order but an old protest, and he’s well past sick of it.

“That’s an order.” He stands and heads for their original cover where he’ll keep watching for the swoosh of the Gate. At least she doesn’t ask where he’s leading her.

“Sir!” Spoken too soon, apparently. He seems to be developing that premature habit with her.

“You’ll get sixty shut-eye from there.” He points quietly, not looking back.

“As ordered, Sir, but I don’t really want to leave these out here like this. If someone comes...”

She lets the good thought trail as he turns and picks his way back to her. The denser forest is dark despite the moons, and his knees protest that he should have his staff arm free. _As a weapon._ Not a staff. His knees are fine.

He suppresses that grimace with a different smirk as he returns. Apparently his captain thinks the rock candy might be good for something after all. There’re enough for at least four armfuls, and he blocks out his knees’ repeated grumble about night ops protocol with yank on his shirt. The sweat’s re-dampened it a little but it fits the extra loads just fine.

Carter’s got her load neatly sorted in her arms _(why?)_ as they tread into the denser forest off to their ten o’clock. It’s a mostly trampled path, courtesy of the deer thing whose medium rare steak Jack can almost smell. Maybe Charlie’ll have managed to catch and not overcook one by the time they get to camp. Which is...fifty-six minutes. Charlie always overcooks everything anyway.

Jack doesn’t flinch at the sudden impact with his bare back, instead letting his staff contact the root at his foot. He patiently braces to steady the moonlit blond head as it slides on the alien-moss he’d just stepped over. _Should’ve warned her about that._ It takes a good few months to really get your forest legs. _In the dark, under artillery shelling, with a busted ankle and a briefcase of God-cares-what._

He does shudder slightly as the blonde hair trickles up his back, trying to regain its footing with arms full of crystals.

“Sorry! Sorry, Sir.”

Flinch slightly. They’re definitely flinches, not shudders. “Ya alright?” His slightly quieter voice is steady despite the flinch, and she lowers her tone at his reminder.

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.” She finishes quietly, upright.

 

His back still tickles a little as he crouches next to her organized rock candies. She looks at him for permission, again, before carefully dozing off against one of the less-mossy rocks. Which is now under his t-shirt. He’d insisted, Jack reminds himself, focusing back on the Gate. The last thing he needs is her getting sick from some alien moss. They’re lucky they didn’t all drop as soon as they set foot here. He settles against a trunk that leaves Captain Carter’s sleeping form in the foreground of the Gate, and his mind drifts to the planet’s too-fortunate environment.

Jack blinks back the ponderance and tries to refocus on alternative routes back to base. Tonight it hurts to try. For the first time since that little cage in Iraq, he really doesn’t see any. _Not that you’ve really seen the field since then._ God, he’s old.

 

 _They’re terraforming planets, and you don’t know why._ Jack reiterates the foggy thought into the face of Carter’s watch forty mikes later. Not knowing is always the worst part. He scans their surroundings again, still nestled under a large red bush and with no sign of the deer thing in sight. His stomach grumbles that it hopes Charlie’s had better luck.

Jack comes back from the thought but has to squeeze his eyes closed almost immediately. Grimacing, he tries to forgive himself for the third time he’s found his gaze on her neck, pale and exhausted against his black t-shirt that must smell like the pits of hell. The effort’s not going well. Which is as much as he deserves. _She’s an airman. Yours. It’s not her fault she’s—_ The sixteen-year-senior colonel bites down on his tangenting thought. He’s just tired. He doesn’t bother with the math, but it’s a two sleepless days with as many firefights.

Jack manages to pass the last twenty minutes without a repeat incident. It’s for naught, though, as Charlie reads the too-strong relief in his CO’s posture as soon as he sees him. Jack calmly turns his attention to Goldie. The colonel’s still unsure of what to say to the large man, but he settles for offering a smile. It’s as much to thank him as to put the warrior between himself and his invisibly smirking 2IC.

The major’s glancing down at the sleeping captain when Jack accepts that Goldie’s culture doesn’t return smiles. Charlie’s visibly disappointed but fortunately unsurprised that their approach hasn’t awakened her. The colonel shares an invisible grimace with him: she doesn’t have enough time in the field, but she might’ve had a much worse night on Chulak than Jack’s hoping he’ll discover.

They both give her the few extra seconds of shut-eye she deserves as Jack’s 2IC gives him directions to camp. Then there’s a more silent conversation. _Dinner’s ready. –We’re still rotating watches here, Major– Here and at camp? –You’d rather let your guard down while we’re stranded?–_

Charlie shakes his head, gesturing: _But she needs to sleep –She needs to concentrate– You’re kind of an ass, Jack –That’s what they pay me for, Charlie–_ Jack can tell his 2IC’s not convinced, but the major’s not discussing his doubts. Jack’s more ok with his silence than he should be.

“Captain.”

Charlie’s surprise at his CO’s mild tone morphs into another of a series of hidden smiles.

Jack’s boot scrubs the dirt slightly before her eyes blink open. _Jeez, those things are blue._ “Dinner or something like it.”

Carter nods after a few blinks. She’s slower than them to reach her slightly less weary feet, but her voice is less hoarse with sleep than Jack expects as she hands him his shirt. This time Charlie’s smirk hits him full on. _Moss. It’s for the moss, Char._ He really wouldn’t do anything smirk-worthy out here. Or at anywhere, of course. Charlie knows that. They just tend to disagree about it.

“Yes, Sir.” She’s still shifting and he realizes she’s looking for the food.

“Sorry, Captain. Just under a klick to the restaurant.”

She blinks for the hundredth time, nodding subordinately before her protest dawns on her. “Sir, I should...” She shakes the fog from her head, and stops.

She _stops_ her protest directed at his order for her to leave her precious ‘DHD’. Jack has to work hard not to grin at her attitude change, this untrained Company Grade Officer stranded some thousand light years from home. _Guess you’ve still got it._ He hasn’t been on a CGO instructor cadre in ages.

“You want these?” Jack nods to the crystals, smile successfully subdued. He wonders if it would’ve reached his eyes.

Carter nods. “Yes, Sir. I think—”

Jack cuts her with an “Ah!” she’ll learn is characteristic for him. “Yes or no question, Captain.” He means it lightheartedly, but her nervous nod betrays her. He preempts the inevitable ‘Sorry, Sir’ with an “It’s your call.”

Her eyes just blink again in surprise, and he wonders if she ever really smiles. It’s probably nice. Jack doesn’t suppress his own smirk as Charlie hands over his own shirt, thus allowing the two departing officers to carry a sack of crystals with their staffs at the ready.

“Call if you get lost!” Charlie tosses at Jack before his CO’s too far away to address quietly. They can’t actually radio of course, and Jack wishes not for the first time that Warren had gotten enough time and security on Chulak to leave them some equipment. One radio’s not nearly as useful as two. _Remember that, Captain._ Jack shakes his head as she falls in step behind him. It’s probably exhaustion rather than subordination, but he’ll take what he gets until he’s close enough to camp’s perimeter to talk to her.


	4. Firelight

It’s a short and not unpleasant hike to Charlie’s selected campsite. A good one, and at just under a klick, it’s close enough to run to the Gate—or from it—and close enough to see warning shots fired into the sky. Jack’s got their route memorized as he and Carter start to glimpse the campfire throwing its shadows into the primeval forest.

“So…” Jack turns to his youngest charge, who’s still blinking her way through her second sleepless evening. “Captain.”

“Yes, Sir.” Her head swivels up to him obediently, most traces of dizziness suppressed.

“What exactly happened last night?”

Her grimace tells him more than he’d like, but he keeps walking. Lou finds them at thirty yards out. It’s an experienced eye that makes Jack proud, but he waves the major off.

 “It’s nothing, Sir. I think there’s just a women’s prison somewhere.”

He nods. “And you didn’t get to it?” He prods, hiding his nervousness. He’ll pressure his resources as much as he must—particularly those that insist on doubting his orders—but he still needs honesty. He needs to know she’s alright.

“Well, they don’t seem to guard women quite so carefully, Sir.” Jack’s pretty sure she can’t help the small smirk that pricks the corner of her mouth, and he’s grateful for its presence.

“Long night?”

“They, uh…” She coughs. “They stopped to…make camp.” Jack grimaces, unsure of what that means and unsure if the moons or the firelight catch the expression. “I…left.” She finishes.

That earns her a smile, though this one she definitely doesn’t see.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I know I’m not yet on your par with survival and evasion. I have done—”

He cuts off her level three qualification more gently than he would’ve expected. “You did well, Captain.” He hadn’t planned to be critical here—her pressure’s high enough—but he’s surprised how quiet he sounds. Tired, probably. They all need sleep, and he’ll be the last to get it.

“I don’t think your men agree, Sir.” It’s less obvious than calling him a liar.

“They do, Captain.” He’s honest but tired and unwilling to argue with the challenging officer.

He turns and leads her back to the fire. She trails him correctly. He realizes too late that her disconsolate form is still weighed down too heavily.

 _She left those prisoners there._ Not that she’d had a way to save whatever women were imprisoned on Chulak, but for the first time in almost a year Jack regrets the shallowness of his emotional well. _You can’t handle this job anymore_. And he can’t. Who can care for his people when he can’t even care for his family?

The thought freezes Jack in the still-warm night, and Carter barely avoids contacting his back again. He doesn’t turn around. “Just because you don’t belong on this team doesn’t mean you didn’t do well for yourself.” It’s not what he’d meant to say, though he doesn’t know what is. And he’s not lying, despite knowing it’s not really the assessment she wants to hear. The truth is, she really isn’t ready.

The truth is, none of them are.


End file.
